


fate doesn't exist, you idiot.

by ponymountain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Abuse, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Eloping, First Kiss, M/M, Mean!Tony, Pining, Plushies, Roadtrip, Slow Burn, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, anything childish really, one-sided, runaways - Freeform, sweets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponymountain/pseuds/ponymountain
Summary: Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr. Peter's parents vanished from one day to the other and suddenly, he is on his own. Trying to reach the city of his dreams, he signs on Tony, an alcoholic widower who only reluctantly takes him with him. Along the way, they can't help but bond and Tony is faced with the realization that he can't let Peter go.





	fate doesn't exist, you idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> HI, MY SWEATYS. Peace. So, I am confusion, this was originally a prompt on Tumblr, but unfortunately, I can't find the post anymore. If someone knows where it is from or where I can find it, it would be nice to send me a link or something so I can tag the person. 
> 
> Anyway, it's my first story on here and I hope it will turn out somewhat readable. Regular updates can't be promised. 
> 
> Also, please note that English isn't my first language and I might make some (a lot) mistakes along the way.

Prologue 

The street in front of Peter was empty. In the reflexion of the many puddles, still there from the rain that had just stopped a few minutes ago, he could see himself.

The thin, pale boy with a backpack crammed to the brim and a plushie in his hands. A beanie pulled over the brown hair, gloves that barely protected his hands from the freezing cold wind. He snorted at the picture in the murky water and rolled his fawn brown eyes. That way, certainly nobody would buy that he was a teenager of fifteen years. His plan to look as mature as possible had obviously and miserably failed. A sigh left him and he pushed the plush toy rabbit under his thick jacket, then he started to walk down the street that was cluttered with potholes.

This was no good area. And because of that, he wanted to leave. 

He didn't really have a destination, everything he wanted at that moment was to escape this shithole and settle down somewhere else. At a calm, peaceful place without distractions and fear.

 _Now I’m sounding like an old man that is through with his whole life already,_ Peter thought and had to muse, although right now he ought to cry. Or wanted to?

He had faced the fact that he came home from school today and fund nobody with surprising indifference. Shock —yes, grief? No. His parents appeared to have been swallowed up by earth, two cups filled with lukewarm coffee still standing on the kitchen counter. That had been the only indication that anybody had been here anytime at all.

Despite that, the place was gray and cold, his room merely a shadow of his pathetic childhood.

Peter had called for Harold and Amber, had searched the backyard and all rooms and had asked his neighbors. But —nothing. Harold and Aber were gone, and in the beginning, Peter had almost conceived something like pain. Dull, throbbing pain in his chest, not necessarily all that painful, but impossible to ignore. So, Peter had to face up to something, which he only did very rarely.

He had sunken down on the leather sofa in the living room, trying to calm down so much that he could think and all gear wheels would finally latch into each other again, but his bruised spirit still couldn't process that his parents may have vanished forever, even hours after it couldn’t.

A few dry sobs, a little trembling, and a dozen tears later, he got up, poured the cold coffee down the train and placed the cups in the sink.

Maybe even that occurrence had only been wishful thinking as well and his parents were grocery shopping in reality, for their upcoming anniversary. Maybe they would return and cook something for Peter while listening to Swing and emptying a bottle of cheap wine. Maybe reality was insomuch blurred and deceivingly real that he was just imagining everything. 

After the realization of circumstances, however, Peter hadn't pondered for long, packed all the things that were somehow important to him into a backpack and ran out on the street. A peculiar, fresh wind seemed to follow him, the smell of freedom.

_God, how cheesy._

Just now the boy was clueless. Well, he had packed his bags and fled like a real runaway, but now? He knew that his savings and the secret money stash of his parents wouldn't nearly be enough to survive for a few weeks. 

Usually, the movie would make a cut at that point and show the protagonist wandering and working toward his goal, it was just that Peter didn't have the energy to wander and also no goal in immediate reach. And this here was not a movie.

So, he closed his eyes and started spinning around, so long until he got dizzy and didn't know anymore which direction he was facing.

Then, he simply started walking in that direction. Even when fate had never been well-disposed with him, he still hoped that it would maybe take him to the right place this time. 

He didn't know how long and how much he walked with his eyes closed, arms outstretched in front of him like a zombie until his foot suddenly hit something. 

_Fate doesn't exist, you idiot,_ he scolded himself and opened his eyes. 

He spotted a front door. Not that different from the others on the street, painted with dark green, peeled off lacquer. Peter didn't hesitate for long and knocked.


End file.
